Simon Wels - At the ‘Bernats’

V. 1883 ‒ 1887

Thus we were both orphaned, the father and the 18-month-old son. A firm bond grew between the two of us. The child was with me day and night. I saw in him the legacy of my late wife.

A year later, my own mother came to me, took a deep breath and said:
“Be a little patient, and listen to me now. Dear Anelka ‒ God give her heaven and eternal glory ‒ was right, you know, when she told you to get married. I’m an old woman now and I’m not able to work the way I was, and for all my efforts I can see the business is dying on its feet. You’re off in Prague and Plzeň and back and forth to Rokycany and I’m left here alone with the child. After all, he’s able to run about a bit now and needs someone to keep an eye on him. And I can’t manage to when I’m in the shop all day. You’ve greatly extended the business and a lot of it is beyond me now. And I don’t even want to start learning new things in my old age. So just you see about making things easier on me and the child, and yourself too.” I had to admit she was absolutely right, but it was not at all easy to put my mind to it. The very thought of it made me feel queasy.

My Rudolf was such a dainty little chap and was so attached to me, and would be with me all the time in the shop however much he loved his grandmother. In summer the shop was open from five in the morning till ten at night, and in the winter from six to nine, and if anyone woke me earlier to buy sugar or chicory for the morning coffee, I would leave the shop open. There was no lunch break, of course. Many the time the shop would be crowded with women from the surrounding villages with their baskets and I would not get to lunch before two or three in the afternoon. And dear little Rudolf was unwilling to have his lunch without me. Granny could promise him all sorts of things but he would wait for me and not let a morsel pass his lips.

Grandma: “Come on my Rudolf, my pet, my poppet, I’ve baked you your favourite, look, batter pudding. You’ll like that won’t you. And first you’ll have a little bowl of lovely meat soup.” But he: “But, Granny, you know I’m waiting for Pappa and I can’t eat yet.”

When I was ready we would sit down at table and would enjoy our meal, even if the lunch had gone all crusty in the oven or the potatoes were overcooked and soggy by then.

Even though his life was not properly ordered, the little chap grew in mind. He was clever and very quick-witted. By the time he was two he knew a number of long poems off by heart. I never discovered how he came to learn them. Most likely he was taught them by much older children than himself. If any strangers came he would always regale them with the poem about the old blind woman. His pronunciation was excellent even the “r”s and “k”s. And it was “an ever so long poem” as he used to say:
“The old blind woman walks home from mass
“She taps with her stick to discover the path
“Finding her way is no mean feat
“And the poor old thing trips oft in the street
“As soon as Jaroslav the woman espied
“He straightway offered to act as her guide:
“’Give me your hand, dear old mother,
“’I fear you’ll bump into something or other’
“The old blind woman is glad today
“That she’ll go safely on her way.
“She strokes his hand, declares with joy:
“God bless you all your days, my boy.”

So Rudolf was extremely bright, but he was a weak child and often ailing. When the neighbour brought him home from a walk, she used to say: “I fear he’s too clever to live, that one.” He caught cold easily and it would cause him to wheeze. It grieved me to see the poor little thing without a mother. But who would be good enough for him. Only the best, for sure, and I did not know who that might be. So we lived together on our own.

Often he was loath to go to sleep without me. When I put him to bed I would sing him all sorts of songs, but he was always wanting something new and my repertoire was not extensive enough. And then I remembered a German one:
“Zu Mantua in Banden
“Der treue Hofer war,
“Zu Mantua zum Tode
“Führt ihn der Feinde Schaar.”

I had to translate it into Czech for him and it became his favourite goodnight song. By the time I reached the last verse:
“Gebt Feuer! Ach wie schießt ihr schlecht!
“Ade, mein Land Tirol,
“Ade, mein Land Tirol!”

he would be sound asleep already. I was glad to have come up with that useful song. Yes, but! Usually he wanted to have fun and would beg me: “Not that one, Pappa, not the goodnight one, not that one, please!” and I would sing him something else. But when I could see the time had come for him to go to sleep, or if I still had some work to do, I would start to sing it, of course. During the first verse he would still be crying unhappily, but by the last line: “Ade, mein Land Tirol!” he would be sleeping like a log.

And so before long he was able to run and would go off wandering around the neighbours’ houses and gardens. One day he returned from a neighbour’s all white and vomiting something black. He told me Mrs Babíková had given him some soft, black goose meat. It was clotted blood from goose lights. He got jaundice. A friend, Farmer Tumpach, got to hear of it and came to see the boy, saying that if I wished he would help cure him of that nasty disease, even though the child was yellow all over, as if painted. The whites of his eyes were even worse. The poor little chap was a terrible sight and it was painful to look at him.

I would not allow the boy to be given anything internally, and Tumpach said not at all, he would only rub something on him. He brought a brown liquid in an open Pain Expeller bottle (the one with the anchor) and rubbed it on his stomach and abdomen. I did exactly the same to him two days later and the third day he started to pass a strange dark-yellow urine. The yellow colouring gradually left his body and eyes and quite soon he was entirely fit once more. It was a most amazing medicine and I would never have believed that a disease like that, which was situated in the blood could be cured just with an ointment.

But I had some other hardships too. One day my sister Betty came to visit us from Neveklov. I saw her to the station at Rokycany and hurried home, almost at a trot. I received a cold welcome from my mother, she was fairly bursting with indignation: “Well here you are at last! Here I am serving a flock of school children and three ladies from Klabava have been sitting here with their baskets for an hour or more. They’ve been waiting for you and there is plenty of work waiting for them at home.” I was wet through from hurrying and I took off my overcoat, intending to change into something dry later. But when the Klabava women left, in came some women from Březina and I forgot all about changing.

Some time later I started to feel a pain in my side, and when it failed to ease over the next seven days, I went to see Dr. Kozler. He told me “there’s nothing wrong with you. I can see from your eyes that you’re fit”. I paid him fifty kreutzers and went to see Dr Hořínek. Lest he should only look at my eyes, I stripped off straight away. The doctor tapped me all over and declared: “There wasn’t any point in your stripping off anyway, I could see straight away from your eyes that you were in good health, and you’ve got lungs like a bear. I wish I were as fit as you. But I tell you what ‒ get married. It’s crazy that you have no wife. All the girls up your way are just made for a shop.” I smiled: “It’s not quite as simple as you make out, Doctor. My wife would have too hard a life: a delicate child in the house, an ailing old mother, hard work in the shop, and me into the bargain. We’d all make demands on her goodness. You see the way it is Doctor. Would you find me one like that?” Doctor: “You’re right there. To have to go and live in a village, a mother-in-law at home, as well as a delicate child, and on top of that arrive as a stepmother, that’s asking a lot. You couldn’t be too choosy at that moment.” And he added pensively: “That widowerhood of yours is a nasty ailment, you know, and I wouldn’t presume to treat it.”

As I walked home from the doctor’s I had time to reflect on myself. I could see no solution and my meditations were fruitless. I said to myself: do you really think you’ll find yourself a girl who’d be a daughter to your old mother and a real mother to that good little fellow who is so often ill, and also have understanding for you? Out of the question! And I pushed those thoughts well to one side.

So Grandma and I went on running the business, with only our little pride and joy Rudolf for company. I used to teach him songs, brought him all sorts of pictures and drew animals in his notebook. He did not break or tear things, and soon he was drawing animals as well as I. There was no difficulty recognising what was a goose, a bird, a cow, a horse or an elephant. He was my master and I his servant, his God and everything else. And time passed by. We took our meals together, slept together and meditated together. And time passed by.

The moment arrived again when I could forget about my troubles for a while. I was happy again for several weeks as I extended and rebuilt my house.

House. That is a very grand name for what was there before I rebuilt it. I can tell you in all confidence: it was a shack. It bothered me that the shop was so small and had no storeroom. In fact, it was no bigger than the front kitchen. And that was no kitchen but a kitchenette. Then there was a parlour with a larder, a small living-room and a potato-cellar. That was the old building.

I thought long about what to do with it. The shack was only nine and a half metres wide and there was little scope there for alterations. So I went about my rebuilding this way: I took a metre away from the kitchen and added it to the shop. And I added another metre from the other side as well, so I could move around in it at last. I turned the old kitchen into a flour store. I put a vaulted ceiling in the cellar, and the space above the ceiling, accessible by wooden steps made from stout deal planks, could be used for storing smaller things. The parlour became a bedroom next to the kitchen, the tiny living room was turned into a lobby, and two byres built in 1876 were transformed into a spacious bedroom. From the extension I made a room for roasting coffee and next to it a wash-house where we also took our baths.

It was not as easy as it sounds from my description. We had nowhere to move to during the rebuilding and we lived amidst a mess of demolished beams and ceilings beneath a bare wooden roof. For me and for Rudolf it was great fun, only my mother would sigh now and again: “Oh dear Lord, if only you’d get married at last!”

In May of 1886, Kavalír, the master mason, built me a wash- house and a rear bedroom. Into it I moved the shop furniture and the counter. The rolls of fabric I piled up to the ceiling in one corner, the rest of the goods into the other corner, and the flour and other sacks with rice, barley, peas, lentils, etc., in the middle, and our bedroom was at the back behind the counter. My mother did the cooking in the wash-house. The innards of the house were totally demolished. Serving customers was very difficult, but the construction was exciting, instructive and entertaining. I would often drive down to Rokycany for lime and other building requisites. My Rudolf enjoyed every minute of it. He used to be as grubby as the workmen. He was always chatting to them and became their pet. And my old mother was everywhere, but she did not complain and put up patiently with everything. Just now and then she would say to me: “If only you’d get married now, it would be such a relief for me!”

After the building work we were glad to be have somewhere clean and orderly to live in once more. But my little son missed the fun. It was something he was not to know again until he sat his architect’s examination in Prague twenty years later, at the age of twenty-four.

In the autumn of that year of 1886 large-scale military exercises and imperial manoeuvres took place in the area around Osek and even my mother now realised how right I had been to have the house rebuilt.

Four days before the troops’ arrival an officer came to Osek to arrange supplies for the army. I was selected as the most reliable supplier. But I did not profit from it as well as Rothschild, the founder of the Rothschild banks and estates, that time before the Battle of Waterloo. Ah well, different times, I suppose!

I went to the mayor and negotiated with him and the officer a price for flour, rice, sugar, coffee, etc. I wrote and asked Betty if she wanted to see the manoeuvres and told her I had no one to help me with this big job. She came straight away. In the shop we got the sacks of rice and everything else ready for weighing out quickly when the soldiers would rush into the shop and we smiled together at the quirk of fate that we were there together serving in the again shop like all those years before.

Looking back, it strikes me that my brother-in-law had probably wanted to come on his own ‒ but only on account of the imperial manoeuvres. But I knew that he would do nothing in the shop, and would only have been out following the soldiers and the battles. He was so proud of having served eight years with the colours and that he had been a “länger dienender Feldwébl” for five of those years ‒ and his fine moustache dated from those times. It was during his military service also that he had learnt to curse and blind with the best and lounge around. He would never do anything if he did not have to. When he was not being a komandant he stood easy and worked only when he heard the words: “Befehl is Befehl!” How relieved I was. And anyway, that frantic militarism …! But wait and see what happened. Things never turn out brilliantly in the end, you know.

We worked for two days and Betty worked like a Trojan. Then a letter arrived from her husband Ludvík, saying he was sorry Betty was not at home, and how difficult things were for him, what with having to work in the shop and nothing being done for him, that he would not cope without her for many days and she should come home soon, “soon” being underlined several times. I told my sister that my invitation had been a mistake and said I did not want handsome Ludvík making any sacrifices on my account. She left. A few days later she wrote that she was sorry she had left and that her husband had told her he had not meant it that way. He would often spoil things for her and make her suffer needlessly.

An officer came to Osek and asked the mayor how many soldiers could be billeted here. Three hundred men and one hundred horses, he replied. “Oh, that would be fine,” said the officer, “so I’ll send you 1500 horses and 3000 soldiers. You will have to find the space and if you protest, I’ll assign you even more.” And they actually did send more. Barns, granaries, byres, yards, lodgings and living rooms were immediately cleared out and people carried straw here and there. Straight away my shop was full of soldiers and everything was sold out in no time: postcards, rolls, boot polish. Even the worst postcards with the silliest things written on them, like: Here she flies, on her broom, your mother-in-law I presume”, or the no less tasteful: Longlegs riding on a bike ‒ How they laugh the little tykes!” or pipes with a ghastly likeness of the Emperor. Yes, the whole lot went. Several cooks turned up, each with a Feldwebel and a number of men and in a few hours cleared the place. It was like an ant-heap and every possible language could be heard: Czech, Hungarian, German, Bosnian, Slovak, Polish, and God knows what else. A veritable picture-postcard of that strange outfit: the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I could not cope of course, and the neighbouring shops were soon sold out too. Offices were set up opposite and a sutler set up a stall in front of them, where the lights were on all night and they sold the soldiers a brandy I had never stocked. Soldiers in high spirits, people’s “dear children”, let their hair down and sang the whole night long and the place was very cheerful.

The next day they all marched off, everything fell silent like at the wave of a wand and I had nothing to do in an empty shop. Sold out.

I sat down on the steps in front of the shop with little Rudolf and answered his agitated questions. He had plenty. Several batteries of artillery were riding past. He recognised the cannon from pictures and said with amazement: “Pappa, I’ve never seen so many cannons in my life!” I believed himª nor had I for that matter. He was fascinated by everything, and so was I. The next day the Emperor himself was due to arrive here. The troops turned out in new uniforms that very night before first light, and drew up in ranks.

I had little to do in the afternoon and Grandma sent us off to have a look at the war games. It was not just playing as I had imagined. From Březina Forest, Plecháč and as far off as Zďár, cannons thundered in the woods, clearing the area of enemy troops. The latter were stationed from Díly and Borek as far as Kamenný Ujezd. We turned off towards Díly, having heard that that was were the Emperor himself would be. And there he was along with lots of nobility in foreign uniforms riding fine horses.

And our neighbour, old Mrs Forejtová was there explaining to devoutly attendant boys, girls and women: “There, you see dears, that one there with the blue panache on his hat, that’s our Emperor, the one with the green panache is the Italian emperor and the one with those crosses is the English emperor” and Rudolf left me and joined the crowd of listeners around old Forejtová. After all, she knew much more than his Pappa.

The Emperor rode past us, like a youngster, in a general’s uniform on a white horse. Everything glistened with gold and silver. Behind him rode squadrons of dragoons, hulans and hussars. What excitement! We did not know where to look first. Everything marched past us. The military bands played non-stop. A miraculous dream indeed!

And believe me it was truly a breathtaking spectacle. When Rudolf and I were running past Hucl’s hut, he shouted at me: “Where are you rushing off to, Bernátek?” and I called out: “To look at the war games. You come too. Quickly!”. And he replied: “Whatever next? I’ve got dung to turn! Just look at that heap! Come and give me a hand instead!” That made me feel a bit sheepish, but Rudolf was pulling me by the hand and we rushed on. It was worth it.

Just take a dragoon, say, or a hussar, or a hulan on a fine horse, all dressed up to the nines in a new uniform with glistening helmet and sabre. Isn’t it just like a picture of the old God of War, Mars. And when there are lots of fellows like that galloping round you. Each of them square-built, eyes in front. And when they all unsheathe their swords at once and roar “hurrah!” and charge at a gallop! A cavalry attack like that is terrible and one can believe that those gods cut everything to pieces and trample everything underfoot.

And you take an individual like that, strip off his uniform and dress him up in civilian clothes. Mars suddenly looks more than pathetic, whether private or officer. Once, but only once, I saw our General Cipra in civvies and it was pitiful. His red nose, puffy eyes, droopy moustache, lapels too narrow, crooked necktie ‒ altogether a little fellow out of sorts somehow, in spite of his imperious expression. Nobody would have obeyed him dressed like that, they would have just laughed at him. But when he was in his “Waffenrock” with the gold collar, then it was “Habtacht!”.

Yes, there certainly is magic in a uniform, and the mob can only be controlled in uniform. For a while at least ‒ just so long as the mobs sleep!

After intense firing had gone on for a long time on every hand the battle was won at last by the side Rudolf and I were standing on, along with our Emperor. He, not we, gave the the order to retire, and the signal was repeated on all sides; it was lovely to hear it further and further away until at last it was out of earshot. We walked home, the regiments and the batteries returned singing and the Emperor rode off on his horse with the entire cavalcade to Rokycany, where a special train to Vienna was waiting for him. The next day the remaining troops withdrew. The splendour was all over.

For a long time afterwards, Rudolf used to sing in his pure, little voice:
“Radetzky, Radetzky a bold man was he
“He cared more for his men than his own safety.”

I was not to hear the clash of sabres and soldiers’ singing again for a long time after. Not until 1914. And by that time the singing of our Czech soldiers was not nearly as jolly and the splendour and glory was not at all glorious. And my little Rudolf was already an officer himself and marching with them.

V. 1887

I could see how hard it was for my mother to keep house and how she was was always looking on the dark side. I felt very sorry for her. She ran the whole household, cooking, cleaning, looking after the child, and when I was out on business, as often happened, she would also stand in for me in the shop. And how did she stand in for me? Like this, for instance: A salesman would arrive and drag cases of samples into the shop. He would ask for me. Mamma, by then eighty, would not be in the best of moods: “My son isn’t home and you haven’t introduced yourself, so say who you are and state your business.” The traveller: “My name is so-and-so and I represent such-and-such a firm.” Mamma: “Oh, I know that firm well enough; we’re not buying anything.” He: “I’ve come to see your son and shall wait until he comes.” She: “He won’t be back till tonight.” He: “I’ll wait in that case.” She: “He doesn’t owe you anything does he?” He: “Not a penny.” She: “And you intend to hang around me like a leech? Be on your way and do you selling elsewhere. We know your company all too well. Last time you sent us stuff we had not even ordered. We have all we need, we don’t want anything, and we’re not buying anything. Good day, young man!” She was a very determined woman: too determined sometimes.

I had been a widower for three and a half years already and would only hire 13- or 14-year-old girls as nurses for the child. For one thing, I wanted to avoid gossip and for another, mother would not have accepted an experienced housekeeper in the house. No one was going to interfere with her housekeeping. Life was no longer bearable for any of us three.

So I made a firm decision to seek a bride and thereby help my mother and myself. I set off on my search and visited a several places. But my heart inclined to none of them. There are so many indifferent marriages, for heaven’s sake. Each partner values the other for selfish reasons, without love, and I might have made just such a choice. One had to live somehow.

But whenever I remembered that little lad of mine, I would say to myself: Yes, maybe you could live alongside some woman, in a relationship of kindness and consideration, and maybe she would not be so badly off with you, but could you entrust her with your one and only, delicate little boy? Will she give him the care his weak constitution demands? I truly did make the acquaintance of many decent young women, from good homes, but not one of them seemed good enough for my son. Even though friends would give me many tips, I now thought up a new excuse: that I would wait until the boy was absolutely fit and grown a little stronger at least. He would often catch colds and coughs and go off his food. The doctor said this was an infantile weakness and he would grow out of it.

And all that idle talk in the shop! Women felt they had to tell him of their concern: The poor little child, what a shame he was an orphan, his Daddy would bring him a stepmother. But stepmothers are always wicked, and she would punish him cruelly. When they went out, he snuggled up to me and asked: “Pappa, what’s a ‘stepmother’ and what does a ‘stepmother’ look like?” I: “She’s an unkind sort of a woman who punishes naughty children.” He: “I expect she’s got all tangly hair, hasn’t she, and she’s always telling you off, that’s right, now I know, like Oubrecht’s wife, she’s always beating her children. She’s a step-mother, isn’t she?”

Once he was in the shop listening while a neighbour was buying a jug. She said to her companion: “I bought a little jug like this yesterday. I send that scoundrel of mine for milk and he went and dropped it with the milk and all.” “You have no sense,” her friend told her, “when I give the lad the jug I give him a wallop straight away and say, there, just you take care of it, if you break it, you’ll get twice over, and that makes him take care.” Rudolf whispered to me: “Pappa they’re a pair of step-mothers, aren’t they.”

Fearing unhappiness, I renounced happiness.

About then my mother started to ail seriously. She was eighty-one. I thought my son and I were going to be left alone in the world. We would go to Prague, I would give up this shopkeeping business. I would be sure to find a job in Prague and could have the child taken in by a good family.

My mother had been keeping house for three years by then. Suddenly she had started complaining about her legs feeling heavy. They swelled right up to the knee. Our neighbour, Mrs Kantofiíková came to visit her. She said on her way out: “Your mother’s in a bad way. She’ll only last about a week more. Her legs are already swollen. I pressed the swelling and the mark of my finger didn’t go away. My mother had the very same. She won’t be with us for much longer.”

Mamma would not hear of my calling the doctor. “If I am to die, then I shall die. I’ve already come to terms with the idea. But whatever will you do, my lad, when you’re left alone with the child. Find him a mother ‒ no widower ever tarried this long!”

The next morning I told my mother that I would not be opening the shop and would be away for about two hours. I ran to Rokycany to see Fischer, the army doctor. I ordered a cart and the doctor came straight back with me. On the way, he recommended me to marry his cousin. “Cure my mother first of all and then we’ll see about the rest.” I told him in confidence that my old mother was not fond of doctors and that he should say he had come on a visit as an old acquaintance of mine. We alighted well before the house, lest Mamma hear the creaking of the cart, and I unlocked the shop with the doctor at my heels. He feigned surprise, saying he was unaware my mother was bedridden. He said he was on his way to Bfiezina and had just called in to give me a wigging for not getting married and to offer the hand of his cousin. That was something Mamma liked to hear. She told him to draw a chair up to her bedside and tell her all about it. She herself would take the matter in hand now.

She gazed at him very sweetly, as she knew how, and flattered him: “What a fine-looking gentleman you are, Sir. What a shame my boy didn’t tell me about you sooner.” He: “And yet none of the women wants me.” “You’re just like my little boy, then. I expect you too are afraid it won’t all be roses!” And so, quite conversationally, the guest asked: “And whatever could ail such a splendid-looking woman as yourself! Swollen legs? – Let me see, I’m a bit of a quack myself. What ‒ is that all? That’s no problem: I’ll send you up a bit of ointment and it’ll clear it up in no time.” Mother: “Well, if you say so, I’m sure you must be right. I can tell from looking at you that you’re a truthful person. You’re a very charming man and if your cousin is anything like you, then … Please, don’t forget about your cousin.” The doctor left with a promise from her that from that day forth she herself would be pressing me “in earnest” to marry, so we should all be better off. Mamma was quite bowled over with that visit, for she was a lively person all her days. She took the bitter medicine like a dutiful child and allowed me to give her legs a proper rub and massage, so that by the time we had used up the third tube, she got up from her bed with enormous energy and was as fit and hardworking as ever.

But now I was in a fix with that energy of hers. “Just you take yourself off somewhere and see what you can find!”

And I travelled here and there and they were such miserable journeys. I would exchange a few words with some young woman and then decamp. I would be very cross with myself but very sorry for myself too. Why me? Why me of all people? And such a degrading activity! Sometimes I would arrive a few minutes earlier than was agreed and then I would discover what the girl really looked like on a workday. A moment later she would run off and reappear all spruced up. So that’s what she looks like on the Sabbath I would think to myself and would have lost interest by then. I could fill a book with descriptions of my adventures but it would make mournful reading. Often it was a case of exaggerated praise like Kecal in the Bartered Bride, and who would emerge at the end of it: Esmeralda the Acrobat!

I only intend to note a minor incident, to give you some idea of the afflictions I underwent at that time.

My neighbour advised me to make a visit to the tenants of a particular estate near Radnice. He told me they were said to have a beautiful daughter, a very angel from heaven. Her father was a respected man, as was the entire family. I promised I would and hoped that something would turn up to prevent me from going and so I shilly-shallied.

Then one afternoon the neighbour caught sight of our Rudolf, barefooted, on the village square, popped him into his gig and drove him, in that state, to the place near Radnice. The lad was pleased to be taken for a ride and he was even allowed to hold the whip. They returned towards evening and Rudolf brought back a buchta [bun] filled with damson-cheese. He told me he thought they were only going for a short ride out of the village, but instead, he said, they drove a long, long, long, long way until they came to a great big estate and there stood a great big house with turrets, and in that house there was a beautiful young lady and she gave him a kiss and asked him about his Daddy and Granny and gave him this buchta and told him to come again. And he gave me a bite of the buchta. So this buchta is supposed to be a sort of visiting card, then, I thought to myself, and I was on the qui vive again. I took a good look at that visiting card and well, well: the bottom of it was burnt. So, my dear Miss, I ask, you give a buchta burnt at the bottom to the child of your prospective fiancé? That visiting card was all I needed to know, and I was glad I would not have to visit that estate and bother that angelically beautiful young woman. And I did not go there. I found out that she had nine brothers and sisters, and she would have liked me to free her by taking her in marriage. Two years later I learnt something else: that she committed a crime so heinous that she was sentenced to penal servitude and afterwards left for America. Her father did not survive that disgrace long.

Towards the end of October, I took a trip to Příbram with my friend and neighbour Štajnárek. He had announced our arrival to a particular rich family. I came, I saw, I made myself scarce. The whole thing was over in less than ten minutes. That beautiful maiden in her beautiful costume was not made for Osek, Rudolf or me. It was some embarrassment, I can tell you.

So as not to have a totally wasted journey, I decided to take a look at Holy Mountain that stands about a mile beyond the town. In those days many processions used to make their way there from the Bohemian and German lands. Whole villages made the pilgrimage; a lone singer would intone the Hymn to Mary and the rest would repeat it in shrill voices. Sometimes a pilgrimage like that would take a week. Lots of girls would take part and they would buy themselves lead or brass rings set with coloured glass and pray to the miraculous Virgin of Příbram for all sorts of things, as life is full of unfulfilled yearnings and aspirations.

And most of all they prayed for a husband. I remember Babetka Pousková telling me how she kneeled before Our Lady of Holy Mountain and prayed to Her earnestly, gazing fixedly into Her eyes and asking “should I marry Véna Šafařovic?” At that moment, she said, the Virgin nodded benevolently. So now Babetka had to marry Véna even though he was a drinker and getting on in years. What could she do, once the Virgin had nodded?

 So I stood before the effigy recalling Babetka Pousková and wondering to myself whether I would end up marrying after all, whether I still had hopes of something somewhere. And nary a nod did I get. I came down from the mountain, caught the train and was back home around midnight.

The next day I received a letter from Lang the marriage broker inviting me to Plzeň. Just to keep him quiet, I told him I would come and see him in Plzeň on 2nd November. I arrived there and got him out of bed at eight in the morning. He told me he knew of a very pretty girl (I already knew that kind of spiel off by heart); he knew, in other words, of a pretty girl, living with her relatives there in Plzeň, and they were, he said, people of refinement. “But it might not be a good idea for them to discover that you’ve had a four-hour walk here, and almost in the night, so you had better go there around ten o’clock.”

It was all the same to me and I still had some things to buy, but we did make our way there at ten o’clock. They lived at the “Golden Swan” opposite the barracks.

We knocked at the door and it was opened by a pretty girl in a green winter dress and a necklace of beads. She looked at me and … That was exactly how I had imagined my lifelong companion! Pretty, mild-mannered, welcoming and most important of all: her dark eyes radiated absolute kindness.

I was always one to be taken in by first impressions, even though subsequent reflection and contemplation often spoiled the impression made by that first moment, but the first impression made by that slim figure before me was very persuasive. I remembered my child and in my mind I placed him alongside her and they suited each other; they were a good match. “This is the one” are the words that came to my mind as I blenched and then blushed red. Oh, Lady of Holy Mountain, you didn’t breathe a word, last week!

They invited me to lunch. There was nothing I disliked more than idle talk at table. I was afraid I would hear yet again: “all the cooking, baking, frying was done by her, she can keep house and do everything else.” After all, it is demeaning for both sides; like a shopkeeper vaunting his goods to a customer. No, that was something I did not want. All I wanted was to spend a little time alone with her, to give us a chance to get acquainted.

I learned from Mr Lang that she was called Johana Müllerová, that her father was poor and lived in Kutná Hora, that she was twenty-two years old and that the relatives whose house we were then in were the parents of an uncle who rented an estate at Rakolusy. The person I had liked most was the uncle’s deaf father, who said goodbye to me with the words: “Take my word for it, Žanynka is a good child. She deserves a good future.” It was a speech free of exaggeration and platitudes, and it occurred to me that I would like to provide her with a good future. During tea that afternoon [sic] I found her even more attractive. I saw something she had written and I loved that too. Her handwriting, her style and her very nature were kind, gentle and sincere. There was a warmth about everything she did. I took my leave and for the first time in a long time I went off to lunch with a light heart ‒ deep in thought and deeply in love. On the way I was stopped by an acquaintance who asked me to step into his office for a few moments. I noticed him whispering some instructions to his lad. He chatted to me about business and politics and I sat there all in a jitter while he tried to placate me and get me to stay there just a moment longer.

And then his wife entered with a pretty young woman. She introduced us, went with us to the park and then rushed off home. We walked around together for a whole hour and she was a good conversationalist and altogether a very pleasant girl. So much so I would have been hard pressed to compare the two. But by then Žanynka had been in my mind for two hours already, and although I now had two girls to choose from I did not hesitate. Oh Lady of Holy Mountain, is that your reward for my visit to Příbram? Two at once!

I went to lunch and spent the time impatiently looking at my watch. Just after three o’clock I was climbing the front steps of her house. I rang the doorbell and again she came to the door and we exchanged smiles like old chums.

That hour was marvellous. We sat alone together at a small table and when I told my mother about it later I could not remember whether we had drunk tea or coffee or even what we had talked about. The hour passed like a dream. But my brain was in a real whirl. Mamma was very pleased that I had at last found the one who was destined for me, and she looked forward to initiating her into the household, and how she would wear for our wedding the beautiful old dress she was married in. You would have almost thought she was well-to-do to hear her. I thought to myself, just you chat away old Mamma and ease your mind. And I went about with a skip in my step.

We had agreed that I should come again the following week, this time to Rakolusy, so that I might introduce myself to the uncle and aunt, who would be there also. And now I made a great mistake: I took friend Ritter with me. The uncle met us at the station with a coach. He was an awful windbag, dressed in a hunting outfit with high boots, and altogether he behaved like a big landowner. Ritter was no mean talker either, so they chatted away together like a pair of country barons.

I could not wait to gaze into Žanynka’s loyal eyes. I conjured up in my mind another hour alone together like last time, but things turned it differently. We drove up and Žanynka ran out in a light summer dress, shook hands with us perfunctorily and ran off again. In a short while we were called into lunch.

Žanynka waited on us at table as if it was the most important thing in the world, as if we were never going to do anything in our lives but eat. And what about the table talk? I could never stand idle chatter like that. The young woman reacted to everything in the same genial way, blushing at hackneyed jokes and hiding behind her uncle. She had not time for me. I was bitterly disappointed. Was this the girl I had dreamed about day and night for years? In despair, I started to doubt: Is she the one? Is she?

We said goodbye after tea, promising to meet again at the uncle’s in Plzeň during the annual fair. Žanynka once more shook hands with us perfunctorily and off we went. How I had looked forward so much to that meeting, for it to have ended so coldly! On the way home, friend Ritter asked me: “What are sitting there so miserably for? Don’t you like her any more, or what? She’s a lovely girl and you’re an old misery.” It made me miserable to hear him, to listen to his chatter, and even to sit next to him, and I was sorely tempted to tell him to hold his tongue. But he would not have understood. Happily, he fell asleep.

I arrived home disillusioned and related everything to my mother. She was distressed at having her hopes dashed yet again, but she could not understand my disillusionment: “But the girl couldn’t have behaved any differently, could she? She’s well brought up and was hospitable to everyone. Surely you didn’t think she’d leap into your arms, you dope? You’re not even engaged, are you? And I should think she has to pay attention when her uncle’s talking, and act as if he was spouting pearls!” Not even my mother has any sympathy for me, I thought to myself stubbornly. “Do as you like, then,” she said. “One of these days, for all of my eighty-one years and more, I’ll take little Rudolf and move out, though heaven knows where we’ll go!”

I did not go to the uncle’s in Plzeň. I was unable to get it out of my mind. And I was back to where I was before. And life went on in the same old way. It was a rainy spring and there was a mood of gloom over all. Mamma was taciturn, singing no longer and going about her work in silence. Rudolf was already four years old. He had many friends. His best pals were František Forejt and Nanynka Holubová. Their favourite place for playing was under our three plum trees behind the cottage. They would make “toy kitchen things” from clay, or pea-shooters. Or they would play in the stream in front of the house. I bought him a puppy and brought it home in my overcoat pocket. “Have you brought me something, Pappa?” “Yes, it’s in my pocket.” And he immediately thrust his two hands into the pocket and got an awful fright when he touched something warm and shaggy. I pulled out the puppy and there was no end to his joy. We had that dog, Azor, fourteen years. They were inseparable friends, in mud, in the rain and in the stream, and they used to bring lots of dirt into the house. Grandma said nothing, and merely cast reproachful glances in my direction every so

often. I would ask, “What’s up Mamma?” and she would reply, “I was going to say something, but it doesn’t matter now!”

And again I started to receive invitations from friends here and there. Again I went to see a few girls, but after a brief stay I was happier departing than I had been coming. I would compare them with Žanynka and I missed her all the more.

One day my brother wrote to me saying he was going to take me on a trip to Sezemice. I refused and sister Betty went in my stead. She wrote to say that she had talked about me there, and that everything had pleased her, especially the girl. Everything would be fine, and I would have to go there or risk angering Jindřich and herself. I obediently made the trip there and had a meeting with the girl and her father. We all met up in a hotel in Prague: Jindřich, Betty, the two of them and myself. I was heartily embarrassed and said to myself this was the last time ever. I have to admit that I found the girl very attractive. She was a well-built blonde. But I recalled the girl in Rakolusy and it was out of the question for me. I told my brother the reason and he, being of a very realistic turn of mind, became very angry with me for wasting other people’s time as well as my own when I had no intention of marrying. So it was about time I married that girl from Rakolusy, and he actually gave me something akin to an ultimatum.

I arrived home at night so as to avoid my mother’s rebukes. But far from it! She was waiting for me and I had to relate everything to her. And I was in for a surprise. She told me she was very pleased with the way things had turned out.

She sat down ‒ it was an hour past midnight ‒ she sat down at the table with me and said: “Take some paper and a pen and write to Rakolusy saying that you want to make a visit and asking what day would be convenient.” The thought of it horrified me but I did as she told me, lest I annoy my old mother. I thought to myself, it’ll be like doing a composition for homework and will be over and done with. Then my mother stretched out her hand for me to pass her the letter to read what I had written. Grudgingly I handed her the letter. She read it. And as she read it she started to cry. “That’s just how her dear old Bernat would have written it, the very same way.” I told her I would take the letter to the post office the next day, but she said no, I was to go to bed and she would see to it herself.

Now Mamma held my fate in her hands and took it with her to bed. She was firm in her hope that Žanynka would not be married yet, six months on.

On the third day I was already expecting a reply, although it was impossible it should be so soon, but by the fifth day it had arrived. The uncle wrote

telling me to come and assuring me that I would always be welcome.
“Mamma, we’re in luck. I’ll go there tomorrow!”

I travelled to Plzeň and the uncle brought Žanynka with him to his parents. The lass ran in and she was even prettier than I recalled. She arrived blushing and shook my hand. Then she went away and returned with a plate of fried eggs. I asked her whether she was cross with me and her reply of “And why should I be?” sounded in my ears like the sweetest of love songs. It was she, she was mine, my Žanynka. We were all on our own. We had all the time in the world until lunch-time. It was not a lavish meal as I had arrived unexpectedly. In the afternoon ‒ my God, how little time we had had ‒ we said goodbye to each other. I promised her I would return soon.

Mamma had never awaited my return with such anticipation. When I had told her everything, she said: “Your luck was in, boy, and now our worries are at an end.” But still she did not entirely trust me. So now we started corresponding regularly and she had to read each of my letters. And she seemed to grow younger each time she read one. I used to think to myself if these please you, my dear love, in Rakolusy as much as they do you, Mamma, then we shall all be happy. We wrote to each other daily and her letters were everything she was ‒ kind, gentle, and heart-warming. And this was the person I was intending to forsake, this was the jewel I was intending to let someone else have!

We fixed the day of our betrothal for 9th April. Jindřich and Betty came to Rakolusy, along with the uncle’s parents and some other relatives. I came home and had to tell all about it with my head all in a whirl. Mamma wept that she had lived to see the day after all.

A few days later, I received a well executed portrait of her. I showed it to Rudolf. “How do you like this picture?” He looked at it for a long time and then said, “Pappa, this is a pretty young lady. You marry this one. People are always telling me I shall get a stepmother, but this one isn’t a stepmother. Marry this one if you know where she lives.” I replied: “Whatever next? That’s easy for you to say: marry this one. And even if I do know where she lives, what if she doesn’t want me for a husband?” “You, Pappa? But she’s bound to want you and I shall have the prettiest Mamma in all the world!” He earned himself several kisses for that. But they were not the last, because:

I had to promise that little whippersnapper that I would go and ask her if she would marry me, and when. I went to see her and told her all about the exemplary little son she would have and I had to promise her in return that I would bring the boy with me on my next visit. He was delighted when I told him the news and asked me all the time how many days were left before we were to go there.

A few days later we set off. The evening before he had shined his boots and he was too impatient to have breakfast the next morning. He just took me by the hand and we went out through the front hall lest anyone in the shop delayed me. The whole way I had to tell him all about the Mamma he would be getting. I could not even tell him all the things he wanted to know.

After such a long journey, my son had a day of glory. They welcomed him like some prince or other. With his mother-to-be he established a firm friendship for ever and ever. Everything there pleased him ‒ the horses, the cows, the bull, the rooms, the poultry in the yard, the turkeys, the peacocks and most of all being able to go straight from the kitchen into the garden. They had a billiard table there and we rolled the balls. We ran around the garden and when four o’clock came and went we could not believe that we must say goodbye to that paradise. Žanynka accompanied us back to the train, through a field, a wood and some meadows. The enthralled child received one more kiss and then it was au revoir, Rakolusy!

On that occasion we agreed that my bride-to-be should come and take a look at her future home. In one of our sweetheart’s letters it said she would visit us in three days time. We went to fetch her. She arrived with her aunt. The carter was just loading some newly-purchased chinaware onto the shelves. “You will have a marvellous time here, Žanynka,” she said. “There won’t be any problem about you breaking china, there’s so much of it!” Rudolf ran up to me and whispered: “My one is the younger one, isn’t she, Pappa? And she’s going to stay here!” They liked everything about a home, including my native village, which I showed my fiancee around.

When I wanted to send out for some beer to go with our lunch, Rudolf went for it himself, saying he would bring the very best. And the litre jug was almost as big as he was. During lunch, Mamma glowed with happiness and was required to divulge the recipes of her culinary art.

During my next trip we fixed the date of the wedding for 5th June. Her uncle asked me what sort of furniture, household equipment and china we would be needing for our home, saying he would take care of everything. I told him, a table, two cupboards, and a porcelain dinner set. We had everything else. So he said he would buy them for me in Plzeň. Žanynka wanted to be present lest they buy too much. She still belonged more to him than to me. But there was no need for her to worry, as the grand shopping expedition transpired as follows:

On a given day we all met up at her uncle’s parents in Plzeň. I sat in their house chatting with my fiancée, and we were oblivious to everything around us. Her uncle’s mother went out and absent-mindedly turned the key in the lock, so we two lovers were shut inside. Meanwhile they did the shopping. Towards evening she returned, unlocked the door and, with a broad smile, tendered her apologies. We had to make allowances for an old lady, she said, adding that she was sure we had not been bored! I found it odd and we went to the shops to have a look at the trousseau they had ordered. The cupboards were made from soft wood and far too small, the table also. I chose something more substantial, paid sixty guilders extra and sent them on to Osek. But it was wonderful, all the same, to have that old god Amor lock us in. I had to spend the night there and that evening we had a moonlit walk in Obcizna Park.

I arrived home the next day and set about varnishing the floors. Little Rudolf assisted me with his usual gravity. The two of us got disgracefully filthy and laughed at each other. All that was missing now was the furniture. Before it arrived I dashed off to the graveyard to visit Pappa’s grave. I leaped the wall, not wanting to wake the graveyard attendant. Devotion and intercourse with my father’s spirit helped to calm me. I hurried home and there stood the furniture cart already. The varnish on the floor was not yet completely dry, but I installed the cupboards and the table with the carter’s assistance. We took off our boots so as not to damage the floor varnish. I can still feel how our feet stuck to the floor and the marks we left are there to this day.

I worked right up to midnight so that everything should be neat and tidy when Žanynka walked in the door. And Mamma and Betty scolded me: “Whatever will you look like tomorrow! He dilly-dallies for five years about getting married and the night before his wedding he slaves until midnight.” Well, I suppose they were right in a way. It was a bit odd to work like that on the eve of my good fortune.

Early next morning we travelled to Plzeň, Betty and I. Mamma was bedridden that day. We all congregated in the Hotel Hamburg. Jindřich was greatly taken by Žanynka and I was pleased; after all, he was my elder brother. They were all in a jolly mood apart from the bride. She was sleepy. She had slept that night with her father (the poor tailor from Kutná Hora) and he had apparently spent the whole night lamenting the fact that his wife, Žanynka’s mother, had not lived to see this day, poor thing. Neither this day nor her good fortune.

Doctor Carro was due to conduct that glorious ceremony at half past eleven. The bride sat ready in her veil, and a mercilessly corseted modern dress. And she was made to wait two whole hours. You see there was a sudden storm and cloudburst outside. When the rain stopped the rattle of a coach could be heard arriving. A smiling Dr Carro alighted, saying that we must surely agree that not even a dog would venture out in such weather, and no doubt we had kept ourselves amused, and so let us commence. To make it up to us he spoke a great length ‒ excessive length for my taste. No doubt that good gentleman thought he had moved us, speaking about our parents looking down at us from heaven above, even though my mother and the bride’s father were still amongst us, of course, and about the great responsibility we were taking upon ourselves. He also talked about marital fidelity, etc., but my thoughts were far away from there! I was remembering that grubby, torn-out page of a psalter or Christian hymn book and I quoted it to myself from memory during that august address:
“Thus, in Thy hallowed sight
“Seek we this day our troth to plight.
“May Thy love within us shine,
“May our lives in Thee unite
“And our souls Thy spirit light,
“That our body be Thy shrine.
“Grant us our aim in Thee to know
“Who art love in form divine
“And on us hearts most pure bestow,
“O, One whose purity is ever true.
“Let no guile this sanctity taint,
“So that, in the innocence of saints
“They may to Thy presence vow
“This gift of union Heaven sent
“And may their pledge intact pursue
“Until the final hour’s adieu
“Until the final hour’s adieu.”

I took a sideways glance at my bride. She was weeping. Had she been listening to my verses or the Doctor’s words?

The good man’s sermon finally came to an end. We exchanged wedding rings and I could now take my wife away ‒ But oh no! I could not take my beloved wife away, because there now followed two unpleasant ceremonies, exchanging kisses and then the wedding breakfast and all those illustrious speeches!

I don’t know where I read about it or which tribe of savages it concerned, where the happy couple simply run away to their hut immediately after the witch-doctor’s speech, leaving the relatives to start an enormous feast lasting several days. Then, sated with glory and filled up to the brim with firewater they are not even able to tell the bride and groom apart and the latter spend a week of divine peace from them.

And so that we should enjoy something of the kind, at five o’clock on that illustrious day, 5th June 1887, I took my young wife off to the station and we set off on our honeymoon.